Meoran's Wrath
by Songs Advocate
Summary: This is a fan-fiction based on Clare Bell's feline Named Series. It takes place right after Ratha delivers the Red Tongue fire to the Clan for the first time. This fic dares to ask the question, what if?


_**Meoran's Wrath  
This Life Is Mine**_

To help readers understand where this story takes place in relation to the novels, Meoran's Wrath contains a prelude, an excerpt from 'Ratha's Creature' © Clare Bell.  
The rest is a fan-fiction by _songsadvocatehotmailcom_

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_Ratha dug her claws into the ground to anchor her shaky legs. She stared back at the eyes watching her. They had come out of hiding and were assembled together in mute challenge. She searched for the remembered scent of the clan, of kinfolk, of herd folk who had taught her their skills and those she had run beside in the meadow when the Un-Named, their enemy, were attacking. The scents were there, but not as she remembered them. Shaking, Ratha crept forward, her torch casting orange light on the path. As the torchlight fell on the pack, they cowered. Ratha saw Meoran blink and narrow his eyes to agate slits on his broad face.  
"Fessran, take my creature," Ratha hissed through her teeth. As soon as her jaws were free, she faced the pack.  
"This is my creature. I have brought it to the clan. I am Ratha, who once herded three-horn deer. Now I herd the Red Tongue."  
Ratha heard a muffled cry and Meoran shouldered Srass aside and come to the front.  
"There will be no herder of the Red Tongue on ground I rule," Meoran said, his gaze steady on Ratha.  
"I have not come to offer challenge, clan leader. I bring my creature to serve you, keep you warm while you guard the animals at night."_

_-Excerpt From 'Ratha's Creature' _

_**------- ------- -------**_

_**Meoran's ears, severely pinned against his skull, twitched in disdain. Foolish female! She dared to approach him reeking with the stench of ash and revolt? Did she think herself brave? Firelight glinted off the tips of his dull fangs as he prepared to snarl a retort. He did not have to look around to know that many had already begun to bear their throats to the hated death-bringer. He could feel the old herder Srass quivering against his flank! He would exile her - banish the she-cub for her ill-thought defiance!  
Just as he was about to decree Ratha an outcast, Meoran's vengeful growl faded in his massive chest. The Red Tongue seemed to whisper to him from across the distance, interrupting his indignation. It provoked his senses - twisting and weaving a future of promise, prosperity, and power. Meoran could not shut his mind to the awakened knowledge - the potential of what could be, as opposed to what was. The Red Tongue could serve him, in ways that claws and teeth could not.  
He could smite Ratha - crush her, rend her from nose to flank for her insolence…or…he could take what she knew and make it his own. He could use her to his advantage.  
Gruffly, the clan leader moved from the crowd, flicking his tail for Srass to follow. The aged herder whined in protest, but Meoran cast him a baleful glower, and the pitiful moan withered and died into meek silence.  
A light breeze teased the air, and beneath the acrid tang of cinders and flame, Meoran caught the unmistakable musk of fear. This gave him confidence. Despite her fire-fiend, Ratha was still petrified of him, and rightly so. He was the will of the people, the strength of the Named. He could shatter her skull with a single blow and send the fangs of the clan raining down upon her unworthy, soot-stained hide!  
Ratha's muscles jolted with the desire to flee. She forced herself to remain still. Her feet were rooted to the earth, as deep as the tallest pine. She would not yield ground - not for Meoran. Ratha drew courage from the thought that Fessran was beside her with the Red Tongue. If Meoran lunged, so too would her companion. Her sweeping gaze frantically searched the crowd. Where was Thakur?  
There! He was edging his way to the brim of onlookers. The herding teacher was trying to suppress his concern, but when their stares collided, his pace quickened, and Ratha could see the torment of anxiety that seemed to fester within him, as would an open wound. His eyes spoke for him. 'You should not have brought it here.'  
Meoran halted no more than a few paw-falls away, drenching the rouges in his shadow. So she came with the spiteful thing to help, did she? "As leader and law, I demand that you prove obedience and loyalty to the Clan. Bear your throats, so that the Named may witness your surrender and fidelity." Meoran lofted his large muzzle, leering at the two females with utter contempt. The presence of fire aggravated his nerves, and he struggled greatly to keep his hackles flat.  
Aside from his obvious scorn, Meoran's body language was vague, as was his husky odor. This made him difficult to read. Ratha grit her teeth. Her eyes slid warily to Meoran's immense jaws. She knew that his fangs had flaunted the blood of innocents in the past. What was to stop him from tearing the life from her when she submitted? Did it matter? If she did not admit compliance, he would signal the Clan to attack. Both she and Fessran would be little more than beasts at the cull. She could not let that happen to her closest friend.  
Slowly, Ratha entered the traditional submissive crouch. Her entire body seemed to scream with objection, as she hesitantly tilted back her chin, and exposed the vulnerable contours of her neck. Her teeth were beginning to ache, but she continued to clench them beneath the anger and dread that now consumed her.  
Fessran's stare widened in disbelief. Why was Ratha doing this? The Red Tongue was fierce enough to protect them from Meoran's temper! She motioned to speak, but those fringing the circle had observed Ratha's humble pose. The pack no longer cowered in panic. Now several of them stood ready to support their leader, eager to charge at his defense. Fessran saw Thakur within the crowd, striving to keep his place at the front. He sent her a warning glance, one that told her to still her tongue - if not for her sake, then for Ratha's. The Yearling had lost her leverage - and with it, their hold over the clan.  
Meoran closed the gap between himself and the she-cub. He extended his snout, whiskers brushing against Ratha's ears as he callously nosed her ruff. His narrowed glare slid to Fessran, aware that she was still an immanent threat. If the torch-bearer so much as breathed wrong, he would see to it that Ratha thoroughly felt the pain of her mistake.  
With intimate precision, he swept his cheek against Ratha's neck, feeling the tender pulse of her jugular fluttering against his maw. His jowls peeled back, and Meoran pressed his long canines against the shuddering vein. He exhaled heavily, and Ratha shuddered in disgust. She felt as though a plague of fleas wriggled through her fur. There were no words needed here. She knew well enough what Meoran's gestures stated.  
This life is mine. It belongs to me.  
From the corner of his eyes, Meoran could see that Fessran had not yet offered herself in submission. He pushed lightly against Ratha's throat, enough to feel the fragile pulse leap and tremor along the length of his fangs. The she-cub went rigid. The message was clear. If Fessran did not surrender, then Ratha would die.  
Pure loathing shadowed the herder's stare, as she too pointed her muzzle sky-ward in obedience. At this angle, the Red-Tongue threatened to lick at her fur. It stung her eyes and hissed as the wind caused it to dance dangerously within reach of her pelt.  
Pleased with himself, Meoran stepped back. "You see." He began, speaking loud enough for his audience to hear. "Even the fire-beast bears its throat." He did not approach Fessran. He was not stupid enough to place himself so close to the torch and her fury.  
"Now," He continued, turning once again to Ratha. "Give me the Creature." There was lethal challenge in his words, an order that left no room for argument, or defiance. His amber glare was void of all sentiment, save arrogant demand and triumph. True - he was not keen towards the idea of holding the torch, but it was vital that the Clan see him as the fire's possessor. He needed to convince them that he wasn't afraid of it. Perhaps one day, he wouldn't be.  
Ratha wanted to oppose him - the very center of her being cried out; No! The Red-Tongue was hers! But…wasn't that why she was here? Wasn't that what she had wanted - To share its gifts with her people, to deliver warmth and safety to the Clan? She suddenly regretted bringing the secret of fire to the Named. She had hoped that all would carry and handle it equally. Somehow she knew that Meoran would horde it - keep it only to himself.  
Ratha swallowed hard. She chased away the quaver in her voice and forced it to remain level. "Promise me that all will be allowed to feel its warmth, to walk by its light, and to fight with its strength."  
Meoran growled under his breath, but his calm demeanor did not falter. "Would you tell a cub to herd three-horns?" He scoffed. "The Red-Tongue is a dangerous beast. We all saw what it did to our forests and meadows. It would be unwise to give it to those not yet ready to wield it. For this reason, it must be confined, until we can better understand it. You are little more than a yearling. The fate of the entire clan cannot rest on your shoulders. I am leader of the Named. I will not tell you again. Give me the Creature. By right - and law - it belongs to me."  
Thakur watched as Meoran's eyes diminished to fine slits. 'I have been generous, until now' the tyrant's glacial, penetrating look muttered.  
Ratha turned to Fessran, and winced at the hurt and contained rage she saw in that known, beloved face. She could not summon the ability to speak. Instead, Ratha simply nodded her consent. Fessran paused, and Ratha wondered if she would bolt with the torch and abandon the Clan all together. Instead, the stubborn herder moved forward, her step heavy with restrained ire.  
"No." Meoran's stern voice brought Fessran to an immediate halt. "She will do it." Meoran nodded in Ratha's direction. All heads turned to the she-cub. Ratha's jaw set in determined malice. She wouldn't! Her eyes met Meoran's, and her bold disposition wavered. Did she really intend to refuse him? He would not tolerate even the slightest rebellion. He had the entire clan at his flanks. What was she compared to the weight and claws of the Named?  
With cold dismay, Ratha took the brand from Fessrans jaws, and carried it to Meoran. She kept her stare locked onto her paws, least he see the rage that threatened to spill over and shake her body from nose to tail.  
"Let it be known that the herders of the Red Tongue are no more. The Fire Creature belongs to the Named. I am its master. Never again shall those who follow me walk in darkness." He lowered his maw to accept the torch. Every muscle in his massive frame tensed, as the scent of charred wood and blistering smoke overwhelmed his senses. He shut his mind to the impulses of terror, and drove his jaws to close around the timber shaft. Reluctantly, Ratha released her hold.  
In a flurry of orange flame and violent sparks, Meoran leapt into the center of the pack, rearing onto his hind legs, thrusting the torch back and forth in a display of dominance and victory. He settled onto all fours, as wild roars and cries of awe rose from those of the clan. Once again, they bowed to the Red Tongue, bearing throats to its new 'Master'.  
Only three remained standing, too dispirited to join the torrent of sound thundering around them. Few noticed the black hearted trio.  
Meoran arched his tail, and led the Named back to clan dens, trophy-brand raised high.**_

_Clare Bell, Cat, Named Series, Ratha Series, Role Play, RP, Ratha's Creature, Clan Ground, Ratha and Thistle-Chaser, Ratha's Challenge, Ratha's Courage, Thakur, Fessran, Ratha, Shongshar, Bira, True-Of-Voice, Night-Who-Eats-Stars_


End file.
